AMONGST the agitations of the day, there is none more unaccountable to a peaceable man in a time of peace, than the resistance to the disbanding of the Yeomanry. It is of course impossible for anyone so unconnected with party as myself, to divine the ministerial motives for the measure; but judging from my own experience, I should have expected that every private at least, would have mounted his best hunter to make a jump at the offer. It appears, however, that a part of the military body in question betrays a strong disinclination to dismiss; and certain troops have even offered their services gratuitously, and been accepted, although it is evident that such a troop, to be consistent, ought to refuse, when called upon to act, to make any charge whatever.

Amongst my Scottish reminiscences, I have a vivid recollection of once encountering, on the road from Dundee to Perth, a party of soldiers, having in their custody a poor fellow in the garb of a peasant, and secured by handcuffs. He looked somewhat melancholy, as he well might, under the uncertainty whether he was to be flogged within an inch of his life, or shot to death, for such were the punishments of his offence, which I understood to be desertion, or disbanding himself without leave. It was natural to conclude, that no ordinary disgust at a military life would induce a man to incur such heavy penalties. With what gratitude would he have accepted his discharge! He would surely have embraced the offer of being let off with the alacrity of gunpowder! And yet he was a regular, in the receipt of pay, and with the prospect and opportunity, so rare to our yeomanry, of winning laurels, and covering himself with glory!

It has been argued, on high authority, as a reason for retaining the troops in question, that they are the most constitutional force that could be selected; and truly of their general robustness there can be but one opinion. However, if a domestic force of the kind ought to be kept up, would it not be advisable, and humane, and fair, to give the manufacturing body a turn, and form troops of the sedentary weavers and other artisans, who stand so much more in need of out-of-door exercise? The farmer, from the nature of his business, has Field Days enough, to say nothing of the charges and throwings off he enjoys in hunting and coursing, besides riding periodically to and from market, or the neighbouring fairs. Indeed, the true English yeoman is generally, thanks to these sports and employments, so constantly in the saddle, that instead of volunteering into any cavalry, it might be supposed he would be glad to feel his own legs a little, and enjoy the household comforts of the chimney-corner and the elbow-chair. As regards their effectiveness, I have had the pleasure of seeing a troop fire at a target for a subscription silver cup; and it convinced me, that if I had felt inclined to roast them, their own fire was the very best one for my purpose. On another occasion I had the gratification of beholding a charge, and as they succeeded in dispersing themselves, it may be inferred that they might possibly do as much by a mob. Still there seemed hardly excitement enough or amusement enough, except to the spectators, in such playing at soldiers, to induce honest, hearty, fox-hunting farmers, to wish to become veterans. To tell the truth, I have heard before now, repentant grumblings from practical agriculturists, who had too rashly adopted the uniform, and have seen even their horses betray an inclination to back out of the line. The more therefore is my surprise, on all accounts, to hear that the Yeomanry are so unwilling to be dispensed with, and relieved from inactive service; for though the song tells us of a “Soldier tir’d of war’s alarms,” there is no doubt that to a soldier of spirit, the most tiresome thing in the world is to have no alarms at all.

In the mean time I have been at some pains to ascertain the sentiments of the yeowomanry on the subject, and if they all feel in common with Dame, the disbanding will be a most popular measure amongst the farmers’ wives. I had no sooner communicated the news, through the old lady’s trumpet, than she exclaimed, that “it was the best hearing she had had for many a long day! The Sogering work unsettled both men and horses—it took her husband’s head off his business, and it threw herself off the old mare, at the last fair, along of a showman’s trumpet. Besides, it set all the farm servants a-sogering too, and when they went to the Wake, only old Roger came back again to say they had all ’listed. They had more sense, however, than their master, for they all wanted to be disbanded the next morning. As for the master, he’d never been the same man since he put on the uniform; but had got a hectoring swaggering way with him, as if everybody that didn’t agree in politics, and especially about the Corn Bill, was to be bored and slashed with sword and pistol. Then there was the constant dread that in his practising, cut six would either come home to him, or do a mischief to his neighbours; and after a reviewing there was no bearing him, it put him so up in his stirrups, and on coming home he’d think nothing of slivering off all the hollyoaks as he brandished and flourished up the front garden. Another thing, and that was no trifle, was the accidents; she couldn’t tell how it was, whether he thought too much of himself and too little of his horse, but he always got a tumble with the yeomanry, though he’d fox-hunt by the year together without a fall. What was worse, a fall always made him crusty, and when he was crusty, he made a point to get into his cups, which made him more crusty still. Thank God, as yet he had never been of any use to his country, and it was her daily prayer that he might never be called out, as he had so many enemies and old grudges in the neighbourhood, there would be sure to be murder on one side or the other. For my own part,” she concluded, “I think the Parliament is quite right in these hard times to turn the farmers’ swords again into ploughshares, for they have less to care about the rising of rioters than the falling of wheat.” The old lady then hunted out what she called a yeomanry letter from her husband’s brother, and having her permission to make it public, I have thought proper to christen it.